


As Long As You’re Mine

by SweetInsanityWrites (SweetInsanityArts)



Series: music to my ears [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bathing, Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Smut, Light Smut, M/M, Mentions of Violence, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:35:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22322695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetInsanityArts/pseuds/SweetInsanityWrites
Summary: Jaskier and Triss become besties and he's still really soft for Geralt
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: music to my ears [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1606753
Comments: 18
Kudos: 161





	As Long As You’re Mine

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this started out as turning that Joey Batey interview into a silly little fic but it all kinda escalated from ther and now it's a part 2 to my other fic
> 
> you dont need to read the other one first but I obv recommend it

> _ And just for this moment _
> 
> _ As long as you're mine _
> 
> _ I've lost all resistance _
> 
> _ And crossed some border line _
> 
> _ And if it turns out _
> 
> _ It's over too fast _
> 
> _ I'll make every last moment last _
> 
> _ As long as you're mine _

***

“Would you like some water?” Jaskier held out the mug to the mage, trying his best not to be awkward. Though then again, offering your hostess water from her own home when you were but a guest probably  _ was _ awkward. He smiled to hide the flicker of anxiety in his stomach. Triss gave a soft laugh and took the mug. “Yes, thank you.” Her eyes twinkled with humor and kindness. He could see why Geralt had trusted her. He couldn’t understand why  _ he  _ had to stay  _ here  _ while the Witcher went off butchering things though, his ballads were much better if he’d been right there to watch chaos unfold. 

He glanced back at the sorceress, who was calmly watching him. The light from the window behind her illuminated her dark red curls and he felt the urge to take notes on the million shades of red and orange. “I love your hair.” He said, half to himself. 

“Thank you.” Triss replied. Her expression was friendly and warm and yet her eyes seemed to look straight into his soul. He couldn’t help feeling intrigued.

“How are you feeling?” The sorceress asked. “It sounded like the past days were pretty stressful and Novigrad isn’t exactly a quiet city.”

Jaskier took a moment to answer, letting his eyes wander around the room, taking in the trinkets and paintings and flowers. It all felt so warm and welcoming and the mage herself had an aura of safety to her that he didn’t usually associate with the magically gifted.

“Weirdly, I feel much calmer now.” He admitted. “I’ve been feeling anxious and stressed for days, ever since we ran into those bandits, but soon as I walked into this house it felt like coming home.”

“A simple charm.” Triss laughed softly. “Don’t worry, I’m not brainwashing you,” she added as she saw the flicker of concern on his face, “it’s not that strong an enchantment. Just a little something to calm me down after a long day. I’m glad it’s working on you. It means you trust me.”

Jaskier cocked his head to the side. “Why shouldn’t I? You’re a friend of Geralt and anyone who can maintain a friendship with him must have a heart of gold and patience of a saint.” The Witcher had introduced him to a few friends - though he would never admit that’s what they were - along his journey, including elves, dopplers and dwarves, and they had all been rather pleasant company. He wasn’t sure how that applied to Yennefer exactly but she seemed to love being the exception in anything ever anyway. Besides, as much as he had initially liked the enchantress for frightening him to death and being overall harsh and scary, he couldn’t shake the feeling there was something very soft and tender hidden deep within her heart. Very, very deep. 

“Geralt has a good heart.” Triss said thoughtfully. “So does Yen, once you get to know her.”

“Did you read my mind? I’m really not a fan of magic in my brain!”

“I don’t need magic to know how people feel about her. She’s … a bit much, at times. But she chose to stand with us when it mattered most and I won’t forget that.” 

“I guess I kinda wanted to hate her.” Jaskier admitted. “But I can see what he sees in her.”

“Did you write that song about them? Sweet Kiss?” Triss asked, leaning forward, the golden sunlight flashing in her eyes. “I heard you sing it in a tavern a year ago.”

“Isn’t that the best part of the arts?” The bard smiled. “The discussion, the interpretations, the rumours and the mystery. No ballad is perfect, though mine get pretty close, and getting people to talk about them is part of the fun.”

As if on cue, the door swung open and the heavy scent of dried blood and mud flooded the room. Jaskier’s head swung around to find Geralt padding through the room, leaving soggy footprints on the fine carpet. The Witcher acknowledged the two with a curt nod and a gruff “hm.” before climbing up into the bathroom.

When Jaskier turned back to Triss he saw his own thoughts reflected unto her face. 

In silent agreement, they both got to their feet and followed the man upstairs.

“I’m fine.” Geralt growled, mid-struggle to peel the mud-caked armour off his chest. “Been getting by alone just fine for decades.”

“The thing is, you don’t have to.” Triss said gently, at the same time as Jaskier’s murmured “Keep telling yourself that.”. 

The Witcher rolled his eyes.

In a united effort, they stripped him to his underclothes, finding scratches and bites that he claimed were half that bad. When they finally had him in the tub, Triss excused herself to prepare ointment for his wounds, though the humourous twinkle in her eyes said it wasn’t the only reason she’d left the two of them alone. 

“So much for not needing other people and not wanting them to need you.” Jaskier commented, kneeling next to Geralt’s head. “You sure have a lot of caring friends for a scary lone wolf.” He ran his hands through the long gray hair, gently combing out the filth. 

“Hmpf.” 

“Not a talking kinda day, huh.” The bard said softly. 

He searched the other man’s face for any of the usual tells. Before their fight, when they’d travelled together for a long time, Jaskier had learned to read the difference between Geralt being quiet out of habit and Geralt being quiet out of shock, grief, fear or whatever else strong emotion might’ve stirred up that day. Today, it seemed to be the latter. He seemed lost in thought, at least. 

Humming softly, Jaskier ran his hands over the Witcher’s body, scrubbing away whatever dried substance it was that clung to the scarred skin, as gently as possible. His chest fluttered with affection as he saw the man lean back with his eyes closed, allowing his companion to take care of him. Once the worst of the grime was off, he couldn’t resist the temptation to lean over and press a tender kiss onto Geralt’s forehead. A smile formed on the other man’s face though he didn’t move or open his eyes. 

“I love you, Geralt.” Jaskier breathed. He knew it didn’t need saying but he liked to say it out loud because now he finally could. 

The relaxed chuckle that escaped Geralt’s lips was all he needed for an answer.

***

The scent of herbs and oils filled the air as Triss’ slender hands moved over the cuts and bruises on the Witcher’s skin. He sat naked on a wooden chair, looking as annoyed and grim as ever, only the softest glimmer in his yellow eyes giving away his gratitude. Jaskier could see the way his shoulders relaxed and his breathing grew less tense as the pain from his wounds faded. He’d curled up on an arm chair with quill and paper, taking notes for possible new songs or poems, though that was proving to be more difficult than he’d expected. It was hard to write about battle and blood when his head and heart were filled with the feeling of battle-worn skin under his fingertips and the sound of a gravelly voice whispering words of affection. The sun was going down outside and the reddish light enveloped Geralt’s naked figure, making him looked as though he was moulded from liquid gold, his damp white hair like ice against Triss’ flaming curls as she leaned over him and - 

He’d never dare write about that side of the Witcher’s adventures but he often yearned to express what he felt to  _ someone _ ,  _ somehow _ . To share this newfound happiness. 

The yellow cat eyes met his and once again Jaskier felt as though they knew every single one of his thoughts. He thought of something dirty, just in case, but the sorceress hid the other man’s face from view before he could see if his expression would change.

“That should do it.” Triss said, handing Geralt a silk robe. “You should get some rest.”

He stared at the elegant, thin fabric, eyes wide. “Not again.”

“Don’t tell me the great, scary monster slayer is intimidated by a piece of fabric?” The lady teased. “I’ll have your clothes clean by tomorrow, no one will see you but us.”

“I actually think it’s quite becoming.” Jaskier commented, pointing the end of his quill. “Brings out the colour of eyes.”

“One word and I’ll have your head.” Geralt said darkly and reluctantly wrapped himself in the fine fabric.

“... you walk around like that and I’ll  _ give  _ you head.” Jaskier murmured as the other two left the room.

***

  
  


“I can see why people fall so easily for you.” Triss smiled. “I’ve heard much talk about your seduction but it’s not that at all, is it? You don’t strike me as the type to collect women as trophies.” 

Jaskier blushed, staring at his hands. “Well, I can’t deny I enjoy fine wine and good, uh,  _ company _ .” It would be a lie to claim women were the only ones he’d shared a bed with. “But I wouldn’t say I  _ seduce _ . Though I’m fully aware that’s what others say.” Mostly jealous partners or other suitors. He knew it was wrong but at the same time, every marriage he’d fallen into had been an unhappy one, a lonely spouse seeking the warmth and tenderness with him that they had been denied from their significant other. In rare occasions, though they were almost his favourite, both partners took him into bed to reawaken their long forgotten feelings for one another. 

“I fall in love, I guess, to a degree.” Jaskier said thoughtfully, looking up into Triss’ piercing green eyes. “I feel like I have such a capacity for love that I can genuinely be in love with whoever I meet.” There was no need to point out why Geralt was a special case. Her face when she’d left them alone in the bath had said it all. “I know what it sounds like but I really don’t want to just use a person for my pleasure and discard them when I’m done.”

“I believe you.” The sorceress said kindly. “My apologies for getting so personal. Blame it on my love for stories and the people who tell them.” 

“Oh, I love talking about myself.” Jaskier leaned closer and cocked his head to the side. “But I’d also love to hear about you. How did you meet that ever so charming gentleman?”

He’d heard rumours about the king’s cursed relative before, but Geralt was a man of few words and no one else seemed to have been involved in the mystery of the striga. 

Triss told the story carefully, clearly still keeping Foltest’s secret after all this time. Still, he was fully invested as she recounted their findings of a jealous suitor, an ancient curse and a night-long battle. 

“He almost died saving that child.” She finished. “When I found him he was half bled to death, yet he immediately asked if the princess was alright. Anyone else would’ve killed the beast and taken all the riches of the land.” 

“He has a strange soft spot for children, doesn’t he? I never quite found out why.” Jaskier’s heart ached a little as he thought about the way Geralt spoke of Ciri, and the excited gleam in his eyes whenever a letter from the girl reached him. Children they met on their journey always got bread, money and a good story. Sometimes he even let them ride on Roach or take a closer look at some severed head hanging from her saddle. 

“Princess Adda. How did she ever recover from that?” He asked.

“It was like taming a frightened stray at first. She needed patience and love, just like Geralt had predicted. I took her under my wing for a while. Words can’t describe the look on a child’s face that feels kindness and tenderness for the first time in it’s life.” A shadow of pain and loss flickered over her face. Jaskier remembered that mages, just like witchers, gave their hopes for a family when they became what they were. Yennefer had been willing to risk her life to get her chance back. He wondered if the gentle redhead ever regretted her choice.

“She was very lucky to have you then.” 

They sat in silence for a while, each lost to their own thoughts. 

Jaskier felt a surge of affection for Triss, falling for her the way he so often did with people who were special. He was glad Geralt had dropped him off here, all the frustration of being denied an adventure long forgotten. Talking to the sorceress felt easy and natural, like talking to an old friend but without the fear of judgement. 

“You should go upstairs.” She said quietly, eyeing the wax drip of the candles that were half burned down by now. “See if he’d like to see you. Whatever happened out there he might want to talk about it.” 

Jaskier nodded and got to his feet. “He doesn’t usually talk but. Yeah.” He held out his hand and helped Triss to her feet, kissing her hand before he said goodnight. 

***

Dim light flooded the room for the few seconds it took Jaskier to slip through the door into the guest bedroom. He closed it silently behind him and crept through the darkness, his heart beating fast. Suddenly, he felt insecure about the whole thing. This really hadn’t been very thought through. 

He had only taken a few steps when he heard the sheets shuffle and a row of candles by the window lit up. 

Geralt’s yellow eyes glowed. “Come in. I won’t bite … much.” 

“Oh, I give you my permission to do so.” Jaskier teased, stripping his clothes on his way to the bed. He realized the Witcher was still wearing the silk thing Triss had handed him. The way it enveloped his muscular body, hugging every curve while still leaving enough to the imagination, was almost criminal. 

“Close your mouth before you start drooling.” Geralt said, confirming Jaskier’s suspicion that he knew exactly what he was doing with that thing.

“Make me.” He stuck out his tongue. 

Geralt didn’t even need to touch him. He just held out a hand and made a beckoning gesture, his eyes staring at him intently. Jaskier followed without hesitation, crawling unto the bed and into the man’s lap. The silk felt cool against his bare skin. He ran his fingertips over it while Geralt’s tongue entered his mouth. His kiss was eager and wild, almost desperate. 

“I was wondering if you want to - talk - about-” The bard gasped against his lips.

“Sex first, talk later.” The Witcher murmured. “You made promise.” He added with a grin. 

And Jaskier had absolutely no problem with keeping his word. 

He undid the bow holding the elegant fabric in place and covered Geralt’s body with his eager hands and hungry kisses. As the Witcher gently pushed his head downwards, he obeyed. The muscular body tensed under him, one hand was curled firmly into his hair, the other grabbing at the sheets, and the most beautiful nosies escaped the man’s lips as his head thrust back. He sighed as he reached his climax, tension falling off him, leaving him more relaxed than he’d been all day.

Smiling softly, Geralt put his finger on Jaskier’s chin and guided him back up. The bard curled up against his body and got lost in the gentle kisses as big strong hands stroked and touched him. He bit Geralt’s lip as he came. Geralt nipped at his ear in return. 

When they were both clean, Jaskier lay with his head on Geralt’s chest, interlacing their fingers as the Witcher’s free hand wandered up and down his back. He felt a warm kiss on his neck. 

“I love you, Jaskier.” 

“I know. I’m adorable.” 

“And yet so humble.” 

Jaskier kissed Geralt’s hand. His skin tasted like soap and oil. He listened to the steady beating heart under his head, slower and somehow stronger than a human’s. 

“So. You wanna talk?” 

His head rose and fell as the Witcher took a deep breath. 

“That ghost, that was attacking the travellers,” he began, his voice barely more than whisper, “she was just a kid. About twelve, maybe thirteen years old. Her spirit all twisted and distorted with the horror she experienced.” He held Jaskier’s hand tighter. “She wasn’t very strong. Managed to trap her with Yrden just long enough to find her remains, discarded carelessly in the ditch like a stray dog. She broke out the trap as I was preparing them for her funeral.” 

So that was why the Witcher was so torn up, Jaskier thought, he hadn’t had a chance to defend himself, probably had refused to fight back at all. 

“I dug her a grave, set her remains to rest, buried her and spoke her some words. The spirit can rest now, at last.” Grief strained his voice as he spoke. “It just doesn’t get easier, no matter how often I see it. Those handprints on her skin, the slit throat, the monster who did it probably still running around somewhere...”

“Who knows, maybe he was one of the men she drowned in the moor.” Jaskier sighed. He knew there was nothing he could say. “People will never stop being horrible. They’ll never stop being the worst monsters that ever walked the earth. Nothing we can do about that. But-” He lifted his head and turned round to look into the piercing cat eyes. “-amidst all that are people so kind and generous and wonderful, they kinda make it all worth it.”

“I’m not kind. Definitely not  _ wonderful _ .”

“How many people do you think would’ve done what you did?” Jaskier sat up, taking the Witcher’s hands into his, staring at him intently. “They hire you to go out and slay their monsters. You could just take the money and do just that, most people do. But you always try your hardest to save them instead, even if it could cost you your life.”

Geralt held his gaze. In the flickering candle light he almost looked as though he was carved from marble. 

“I’m not a hero.” He said slowly. “Did you never wonder what happened, why they called me the Butcher of Blaviken?” 

The bard shrugged. “Judging by the other lies they spread about you I assumed there was a part of the story they weren’t telling.”

“I killed all those people. I was put before a choice and I will never know if it was the right one. And it wasn’t even my place to make a decision to begin with.”

“Did you do it for coin?”

“Of course not!”

“So you thought you did the right thing. You tried. And that’s all any of us can do.” Jaskier lifted the battle-worn hands to his lips and gently kissed each knuckle. “Maybe you made a mistake. And yes, that might stick with you forever and I’m sorry, but that’s only human.”

“I’m not human.”

“Sometimes, Geralt, I think you’re much more human than the rest of us.” 

Jaskier let the Witcher’s head lean forward against his shoulder, caressing the tangled silver hair. 

“My point is,” he whispered, “you’re much kinder than you give yourself credit for. And even when we were apart for all this time and I saw so many terrible things happening, I still held on to the knowledge that at least somewhere out there, you were trying your best to make it better.”

“Sometimes I wish I could see myself the way you see me.” Geralt murmured against his chest. 

“One day you will, I’ll make sure of that.” Jaskier promised. “Until then, I’ll just love you enough for both of us.”

***

The city was alive around them, merchants screaming from their market place, children playing, whores whispering sweet promises. Everyone stared in awe, and a little bit of fear, as Geralt shouldered his way through the busy streets. Jaskier stumbled after him, feeling almost like a very colourful shadow. They reached the stables quickly, followed by murmurs and rumours. He almost regretted not singing a bit to try and get some coin out of the attention. But something had been nagging on his mind ever since the brief conversation he’d had with Triss Merigold before they had parted ways that morning. Her words clung to him, seeping deeply into his heart. He knew she was right. He knew what they had to do. 

“We have to find Yennefer of Vengerberg.” 

Geralt’s eyes blazed at him. “Why in the world should we? You heard her, she’d want nothing to do with me.” 

“Because you love her. She made you happy. You made her happy. Djinn or not, your destinies are linked together forever and you wont find peace until you accept that.”

“I don’t need her. I have you.”

  
“Nothing will change that.” Jaskier said, looking deeply into his eyes. “I am yours, no matter what.” Nothing in his life had ever been so clear to him. Their lives weren’t made for marriages and peaceful cottages and daily routine. Their lives were filled with change and movement and chaos. But in-between all that unpredictable mystery he knew, some people belonged together and would stay together, no matter how hard the world tried to tear them apart. Triss was right. Geralt was that person for him and Yennefer was that person for Geralt and neither of them would find peace until they accepted that.

“Find her.”

**Author's Note:**

> i am already working on a part 3 so make sure to subscribe to the series if you want to get updated, i have no self control and am obsessed with these two
> 
> also check out my IG, i post fanarts there sometimes  
> https://www.instagram.com/sweetinsanityarts/


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